


Little Life

by Para



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Para/pseuds/Para
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all flowers can survive frost unburnt, and not all people can live an unhappy life well.  The best that Petunia can do is not always good, but neither is it the worst it could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is set pre-Hogwarts, probably when Harry is somewhere between 4 and 8. It may also be mildly AU since I haven't read the books recently and have difficulty imagining this Petunia going as far as the Dursleys do in later summers, but not by much.
> 
> This is currently unedited; I'll probably come back later to clean it up a bit, and may add/remove/rearrange a bit, since there are a few things I wanted to include and didn't manage to fit in.

She wants to scream when she sees the boy.

What she feels is not, whatever anyone may think, hatred. Petunia Dursley is many things, not all of them flattering, but she is not a monster, and she cannot hate an infant. If the boy she'd found on her doorstep had been older, a teenager already fully formed into his world, beliefs, and arrogance, then perhaps--but he wasn't, and he isn't, and she can't hate him.

At the same time, she can't not want to scream every time she sees the boy. It's not _about_ the boy, not really. It's about everything but him--the sister she lost, the world she still fears, and the life she managed to make for herself that was so quickly and simply disrupted. Did those--those _freaks_ even consider what leaving a baby on her doorstep for her to take care of would mean for her life? Petunia thinks not, and knows it doesn't matter; she can't argue, can't even contact them to complain, can't refuse the last link to her sister, or the protection her nephew's presence promises against the threat the letter left with him implies.

And that incenses her too, all by itself--how _dare_ they presume to try to threaten her into caring for her nephew? What sort of monster do those freaks take her for? What sort of monsters must they _be_ , to assume that a decent, normal woman wouldn't care for her sister's child without being threatened if she needed to, no matter what fights were between them before? That the threat came from some gang that even the freaks thought was evil and which were responsible for her sister's death rather than directly from the ones--whoever they were!--who had left her nephew appeased Petunia not at all. If they hadn't meant to use the threat of the Death Eaters (and what a freakish name that was!) to force Petunia to keep her nephew, then they needn't have mentioned the blood protection at all.

And ugh, blood protection. Petunia doesn't think that meant there was actual blood around her house, but it sounded like it, and it was just such a revolting thought. Blood protection, of all the things!

But she can't refuse, and so the boy stays, and Petunia clings as best she can to her normal, happy life, as well as it remains. It's not _gone_ , not really, just--disrupted. Permanently changed. So she clings to her son; holds him, plays with him, feeds him, and if she's lavishing a bit more attention on him than strictly necessary, well, he's an infant. It won't hurt him, and it comforts Petunia.

She tries, sometimes, to pay attention to the boy too, but it's just so hard to look at him. Everything about him, from his presence in her house to his very existence, is a reminder of how vast and surprising the world can be, and how very powerless Petunia is in it. She's not special like her sister, she doesn't have the power to protect herself from magic--and even if she had, would it do any good? All Lily's magic didn't save her, and Petunia is even weaker than _that_. Who knows what could happen to her? Or, since wizards can change memories, what already has? Petunia lost her sister, her parent's pride, and now the normal, happy life she'd managed to scrape together, and none of that is the boy's fault, but she can't help but think of it every time she looks at him, and no matter how she tries to play with and care for him she ends up cold, holding herself distant so she won't rant or scream or cry at him for things that aren't his fault at all, and runs back to her son to feel like there's some hope in the world again, something she can control and make good. And then she sees the boy's wary eyes, and just feels worse.

It's easier to interact with the boy if she has something to focus on, Petunia learns. If she's teaching him to cook, to tell good food from bad, and raw from burnt from perfectly done, or to identify garden plants from weeds, and which fruit, vegetables and herbs are ripe or not ready yet, then she can interact with the boy without reacting too badly. It's not ideal, she knows, but what is? Besides, it won't hurt him to know how to cook and clean and grow his own food, and if he grows up with fewer connections to this world to lose when he leaves it--well, that's probably for the best.

And so it goes. Her son and the boy grow, her husband works, and Petunia makes her way through a life that feels at least partly like it's still hers. If in time the boy is a bit isolated and her son a bit spoiled, well, worst things have happened. Petunia is doing the best she can, and it's already a struggle every day to balance caring for the boy with caring for herself and the rest of her family. After all, while he may get to leave and start a brand new life, the rest of them do not, and Petunia won't let her husband's career or son's future be hurt. And if she seems a bit harsh sometimes, well, she's being as gentle as she can, with the fear and bitterness that scream in her head every time she sees the boy.

None of it is his fault, but none of it is hers either, and there's only so much Petunia can do. She can give the boy a house, food and clothes, she can teach him to read and write and cook and clean. She can send him to school, and watch him grow, and she can think _oh, Lily_ \--

But she can't finish the thought. Sometimes it's longing; what would life be like if her sister had been normal, if they'd grown up and gotten married and lived normal lives together like they were supposed to? Sometimes it's wistful; you'd be so proud of your son if you were here, and then it wouldn't matter that I can't. Sometimes it's angry; what were you _thinking_ , staying in the middle of a war with a baby to care for? You should have run! Sometimes it's bitter; and now I'm stuck taking care of _your_ kid, in fear of _your_ enemies.... And sometimes it's other things; feelings out of reach, that Petunia can't quite name or understand.

Sometimes, feeling like that, Petunia is tempted to tell the boy about Lily; about her younger sister, the bright face and little girl giggle. But then she sees the boy, and remembers how the little girl vanished as the witch grew up, and thinks, no. Her sister is not the same person as the boy's mother, and those few and fading memories of childhood, before Petunia knew how little the world cared for her, are precious. She has no desire to share them with a child who would not understand, who represents all she lost and all that could take away what she still has.

Petunia Dursley is many things, not all of them flattering, and a monster is not among them. But neither is a saint, and she cannot love the boy that makes her want to scream.


End file.
